The radio station DRTV LM had been Morris’s de facto home away from home for the better part of five and a half years now. Most would assume that would mean it was a place of familiarity and comfort to him; a place of solace where he could feel just as open with himself and his coworkers as he was in his own personal life.

  As far as Morris was concerned, those people would be idiots on both accounts. For one, he lived alone; no family beyond an older brother who spent most of his time overseas in Kuwait. Secondly, most people there only knew him as “the camera guy” so they weren’t exactly inclined to give him too much in the way of social graces.

  And lastly, he was at least halfway certain he would find himself back on Indeed or some other job search site before long; scrounging around for more mork since the station manager had called him into the office yet again to ask why he’d failed to deliver on the last two edits for Rob’s documentary In the Season of March on time. Nevermind the fact that Rob had himself failed to send him the memos that Morris needed to actually make the aforementioned edits, but alas Ronald - DRTV’s SM - didn’t take kindly to anyone criticizing one of the only consistent documentations that kept his station, and his bank account, afloat.

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  So, no. DRTV LM was hardly a homely environment for anyone in Morris’s position. Most days it was an almost endless source of anxiety where every day ran the risk of being his last and every shortcoming or thinly veiled reprimand was just another reminder of how precarious his employment truly was.

  One would think that - having survived through nearly two decades of this kind of passive aggressive contempt - that he’d had built up a kind of tolerance, or at least a begrudging acceptance that this was simply the lot of someone who hadn’t found their niche in the professional world yet.

  But no. He was just as bitter about it now as he was the first time he got fired from his position as a boom guy for a film student’s graduation assignment.